


Turkish Oil Wrestling

by punky_96



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 10:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14542839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punky_96/pseuds/punky_96
Summary: Re-post from LJ.  These are really old drabbles, but they made me laugh to think back, so they made the cut.The only summary I had from back then was:  because the phrase `hair pulling' got stuck in my headA bit of a crossover with the L Word and the Turkish Oil Wrestling scenes.





	Turkish Oil Wrestling

**_Turkish Oil-Wrestling_**  
  
**_Advertisement--1_**  
  
In his hand was an advertisement.  A fancy flyer.  
  
George’s hand shook, as he stood rooted to the spot hoping that a man would fall from the top of the building and crush him this time instead of the pigeon.  
  
The flyer promised hair pulling.  It promised slick skin.  It promised shiny oiled bodies.  He knew that half of Seattle had already received this flyer.  He knew that Karev, the King of Boink had seen it. He knew that he would be there to cheer on the Hot Bone-Crusher Callie Torres.  Again, he would elbow George in the ribs hard and say that she was too much for him that she was so hot, and he was so stupid.  
  
He stood looking up at the roof of the building.  He let pigeons land on him.  He had brought a muffin just for them; as if they were bait for the falling man that he could hope would plummet from the sky and kill him.  
  
He sighed.  
  
Individual fighters.  
  
Teams.  
  
The flyer had been handed to him by one of his interns who said he couldn’t wait to see Dr. Torres in the ring.  He was new and probably ignorant enough to not know that Dr. Torres used to be his wife—Callie O’Malley.  
  
He sighed again.  Images of women tumbled in his head.  They didn’t make sense to him, but they were there anyway.  He shook his head trying to shake them out of his brain.  Maybe if he could shake hard enough the images would go away.  Maybe he could shake himself to death—shaken baby syndrome and all that.  
  
He could hope right?  While he waited for the pigeons and refused to enter the hospital and get on the hamster wheel of SGH’s rumor mill.  
  
Hair pulling.  His hands balled up into fists.  Slick skin.  He could hear the ringmaster:  
  
Callie and Erica—Callica  
  
Callie and Sadie—Sadlie  
  
Callie and Arizona—Calzone  
  
***  
  
**_Round 1_**  
  
George is early for rounds on Monday morning.  He wants to get a fresh start on the week.  Unfortunately, the first people that he runs into this morning are a gaggle of interns including Sadie.  They are standing at the nurse’s station giving each other high fives and making inside jokes that sounded like teenage gibberish to him.  He can’t believe he was an intern with the rest of them just months ago, he wonders at how his group must have looked to the residents then like Miranda Bailey.  
  
He continues down the corridor easily slipping past the happy group.    
  
“You paged me, Dr. Bailey?  Uh, Dr. Robbins.”  
  
George shakes his head trying to keep it clear.  Sadie and her group were cheerful.  Dr. Robbins looks somber.  He can’t help but wonder if there was a match and Dr. Robbins had not been the victor.  The image of the two women wrestling was not what he wanted in his brain, and yet he couldn’t shake it either.  He tried again, “What’s the case?”  
  
After scrubbing out of the surgery with doctors Bailey and Robbins, George checks the surgical board to see what the possibilities are for the rest of the day.  Deciding that he would observe Dr. Torres’ hip replacement until he was paged again he turned to walk down the hallway.  Passing slowly by the nurses’ station he overhears a snippet of conversation from Karev and Sloan.  
  
“Why didn’t you go Saturday night?”  
  
“Busy, you know.”  
  
“I thought sure you’d be there to support your buddy, Callie.”  
  
“Well, I figured she could handle herself with the oiled girl on girl action.”  Sloan gives Karev a pat on the shoulder and one of his best McSteamy grins.  
  
“You got that right.  She’s the reigning champion.”  
  
“That’s our girl.”  Sloan says to Karev as he walks away.  
  
George speeds up his walking, but instead of going to the observation room of OR 1 he keeps going to the stairwell.  Once in the stairwell he starts running up flights of steps taking them two at a time.  He stops, hearing his name and he turns to look down.  Dr. Bailey’s voice would stop anyone in his or her tracks.  George starts to turn back to head back down, but he misses a step and falls.  
  
Diagnosis:  dislocated shoulder.    
Treating Physician:  Dr. Calliope Torres.  
This day:  Sucks  
  
***  
  
**_Advertisement—2_**  
  
Under her windshield wiper was an advertisement.  A glossy colorful flyer.  
  
Erica’s hand shook as she pulled the flyer out from under the wiper blade and flipped it over.  
  
The flyer promised hair pulling, slick skin, and shiny oiled bodies.  She knew that half of Seattle had already received this flyer and one for the previous event.  She knew that all of SGH would be abuzz with it. She could just imagine who would be there to cheer on Turkish Oil Torres—the Reigning Champ.  The picture was all kinds of awesome showing Callie in her oiled glory, but this was a very public event with a very public image.  
  
Erica shoved the flyer into her jacket pocket and got in her car letting the engine warm.  She briefly contemplated driving off the roof of the parking structure.  If it didn’t kill her it would certainly take her mind off of Callie, Turkish Oil Wrestling and—going to see?  Erica Hahn would not ever think about going to such an event.  
  
She sighed.  
  
Callie Torres Turkish Oil Champion.  
  
Will take any contenders.  
  
Some nameless faceless individual placed the flyer under her wiper blade.  Someone ignorant of who she was and wholly ignorant of who Callie Torres had once been to her.   
  
She sighed again.  Images of women tumbled in her head.  Jumbled up, but they were there anyway.  Vague TV images danced in her brain.  Her younger cousin had sent some DVDs after some long confiding talks and a couple of visits.  The L Word DVDs.  
  
Erica shakes her head hoping the images will blur or fall out of her ear or something else totally impossible medically, but definitely desired mentally.  However, as she shook her head the images warped and changed like a kaleidoscope melding and morphing into new and different images.  
  
She could try to escape the images, right?    
  
Hair pulling, slick skin, Turkish Oil Torres waiting for a challenge—The ringmaster:  
  
Callie Torres Reigning Champion  
  
Carmen de la Pica Morales—who can lay the beat down…  
  
Papi—who needs NO introduction…  
  
***  
  
  
**_Turkish Oil Wrestling—Second Set_**  
  
**_Another Monday Morning_**  
  
Erica Hahn strides into the hospital with a purpose.  She is there to cut and to save lives.  She is not there to think about her past or her growing sense of loss.  She is not there to make friends or be confused.  This is work—it’s sterile, it’s pure, it’s scientific.  The OR has been her home for 16 years and before that it was her highest dream.  She doesn’t want to talk to people any day, but especially not today.  
  
Morning TV had a segment about the growing Seattle Sensation of Women’s Turkish Oil Wrestling.  It showed some footage of the events including the championship round for the evening between Carmen de la Pica Morales and Calliope Torres, and the show stealing match earlier between Carmen de La Pica Morales and Papi, a sub-culture celebrity of some kind.  
  
Erica closed her eyes shut tight and pinched the bridge of her nose hard.  
  
She had showered this morning thinking of the glistening skin of Callie and Carmen.  She imagined the heat of their touch, the slip of the oil, the animal passion with which they would have fought for the title.  
  
Erica grabbed a chart from the nurse’s station forcing her eyes and brain to focus on her work for the day.  On the other side of the nurses’ station two of her colleagues arrive exchange notes on a patient and then begin discussing their weekend.  
  
“Did you end up going or was your girl still jealous of the idea?”  
  
“Oh.  I went and it lead to hot make up sex when we got home.  Did you guys make it?”  
  
“Yeah.  We stayed after that championship round to do the meet and greet.  Callie and Carmen are so hot.”  
  
“You met them?”  
  
“Ohhhh.  Yeahhh.  They were signing autographs on the flyers and stuff.  They had just showered from all the oil and stuff and they had wet hair and were wearing these little boxing robes or something.  Oh.  Wait.  I have pictures of them in my phone.”  
  
Erica slams the chart closed and tosses it back onto the pile.  She shoves the chair under the counter and stalks around them and down the hall.  “High school with scalpels.”  She mutters walking away.  “Callie described it perfectly.”  Erica shakes her head, wondering if she’ll ever escape this.  
  
“Sorry, Dr. Hahn.”  They twitter after her only to turn their attention once again the to the photos of the hottest runner up ever and her champion.  
  
**_Advertisement—3_**  
  
By Friday evening Erica had survived about all she could take.  Her days were plagued with colleagues talking about oil wrestling instead of focused on surgeries and saving lives.  She was thoroughly distracted by her colleagues and work and was contemplating the reasons she had stayed in Seattle, that however only left her thinking about Callie once again—and she was unfocused.  
  
This kind of blurring of personal and professional lives was maddening to her.  That this blurring spread out like a disease over all of Seattle blanketing her new hospital under its spell really shook Erica to the core.  What got to her more than this life blurring was the fact that she found herself wanting to hear about it, wanting to hear about Callie.  This really bothered Erica because she had made the right decision.  She chose to walk away when the cards were not in her favor, when there was nothing left to save.  She cut the cancer out of her work and her personal life and she had stitched both back up with minimal scarring and she had moved on.  
  
Or had she?  
  
Decidedly dejected Erica reaches her car only to find once she’s seated in the driver’s seat and settled in to leave that there is a flyer under her windshield once again.  
  
Once again it is glossy promising hair pulling, slick skin and shiny oiled bodies.  This time Erica knew that the vast majority of Seattle had seen the flyer if not the event either in person, in photos, on the news, or she pursed her lips angrily—the internet.  Only this time the background photos are Callie and Carmen covered in oil post match, Carmen and Callie cleaned up and flirting with the camera, and then Carmen and Callie in flirty mock fight poses across the bottom of the page.  
  
Erica sat in her car the door open, crisp air cooling her face while her heart beat fast enough to overheat the body from within.  A wrestling match was going on inside her or maybe several matches were going on.  
  
The announcer pitted the rivals against one another.  
  
Pride versus Love  
  
Professionalism versus Not  
  
Past versus Future  
  
Erica again reads the flyer.  Bouts scheduled each week.  The reigning champ will take on any challenger.  Challengers sign up on-line or in person no later than an hour before the event.  If the challenge list is full for the evening, then the challenger may be signed up for the following week.  
  
**_Notoriety_**  
  
Callie Torres was in her element.  
  
Izzie had once called her `Cagefighter Callie,’ but as she reflected on it, she had been kind of right.  Thinking back on that it is simply too bad she hadn’t known to attack Izzie instead of Meredith that day.  Karma rocks.  Karma would’ve rocked if she could’ve taken a piece of Izzie.  Oh.  Never mind.  Erica used to say that.  
  
Not today though.  That won’t shake her today.  
  
Carmen is coming to lunch today.  
  
Everyone at SGH has been so supportive of her.  They are glad to see their Callie back instead of the sullen infant that she became when Erica left.  So, what if she’s the Bone Crusher by day and the Oil Wrestler by night?  It’s a legitimate hobby, right?  
  
And seriously?  Who is going to complain about skimpy outfits, soaked women in oil sliding all over each other, and the camaraderie that competition builds behind the scenes?  As far as Callie was concerned this had been the best couple of weeks so far in her life.  She was no longer confused, she was hungry:  hungry for competition, excitement, the rush of winning and the long nights of celebration.   


Flowers had arrived after the first week of competition.  
  
Then cards and more flowers the next week.  
  
Just this past weekend Callie could think of another souvenir that she had acquired…  
  
Callie was recognized by staff that cheered her on, and patients’ who thought it was a thrill to be treated by her and then have her sign their cast.  
  
Callie’s head was spinning from the excitement, from the distractions, from the bright lights big party of it all.  She strutted in the hallways until Mark said she was enjoying the notoriety a little too much.  
  
She was definitely not thinking of why she needed so much attention, why she needed so much distraction, or why she couldn’t sleep when she finally did try to on those lonely, lonely nights.  She was definitely enjoying the notoriety and the knowledge that it would drive a certain person completely insane if that person hadn’t blasted off to the moon somewhere disappearing from her life completely.  
  
No.  She wasn’t thinking about those things or that person.  In fact, she was thinking of going to find Karev, he was always good for a distraction and he would want to see the pictures of herself and Carmen with Papi.  
  
  
  
**_Turkish Oil Wrestling—Third Set (Final)_**  
  
**_Supportive_**  
  
“Dude, you really are into chicks, huh?”  
  
“Watch it, Karev. If you want me to show you these pictures you need to behave.”  
  
“Ow!  Don’t hit me Bone Crusher.”  Alex rubs his arm where Callie smacked him hard.  “I just thought you were into blondes.  Then you went all dark-skinned and lovely on me!”  Karev runs away once he finishes his sentence.  He knows full well what her response is going to be.  
  
“Get back here so I can hurt you, Karev.”  
  
“Do you say that to all the ladies?”  Carmen asks sneaking up on her.  “Cause… It kind of works for me.”  She gives her a sexy look as they kiss hello in the hallway.  
  
“Hey.  You.  You’re early.”  Callie says with a very happy gleam in her eye.  
  
“Is that okay?”  
  
“Oh, yes.  I can take you on a tour.”  
  
“A hospital tour?  That’s boring, Callie.  I’m not a doctor, you know.”  
  
“But you played a good one this weekend for me?”  Callie pouts leading the way to the elevator.  “Don’t you want to show me where it hurts?”  She smirks at Carmen.  “I will kiss it and make it better.”  
  
“Now that kind of tour I could get into.”  
  
“5th floor.  That’s my floor.  Mark has the third floor.  Meredith has the second floor.  Everyone else shares the 4th floor.”  
  
“Did you have to wrestle them for the floor title?”  
  
“No.  That’s only on the weekends and with you.”  Callie says with a flirty smile.  
  
“Only with me, huh?”  
  
“And Papi, and the other challengers.  But Sadie and Arizona didn’t stand a chance.”  
  
**_Challenger_**  
  
The flyer says that the champion will accept any challenge.  
  
How do you win a match in Turkish Oil Wrestling?  Are there really any rules?  
  
Or is it just slick bodies, hair pulling, and whatever energy you put into the idea of it?  If there are no rules how does the audience now there is a winner?  How does the winner feel like they have really accomplished something?  
  
“Dr. Hahn?  Sorry to disturb you, but Mrs. Madsen has some questions for you regarding tomorrow’s surgery.”  
  
Erica blinks at the resident who visibly flinches.  “I’ll be just a minute.”  The resident hastily backs out of the door swearing in his mind.  Erica shakes her head wondering what kind of path her thoughts were going down.  She scolds herself, “What?!  Were you going to challenge Callie to a match or something?”  Erica takes a deep breath and heads down the hall to tend to Mrs. Madsen.  
  
***  
  
Erica returned to her car to find another flyer.  The advertising team was apparently having a field day with the sudden celebrity of the reigning champion Turkish Oil Torres.  They were creating a contest in which contestants could run a gauntlet of trials in order to win a kiss from the champion herself.  Then they would be thrown into the ring to challenge Carmen de la Pica Morales for a chance at a match with Callie.  Apparently, there was a behind the scenes romance that the producers wanted to pounce on and milk for all it was worth.  
  
Erica ripped the flyer out from under her windshield wiper, and as she read it her hand gripped it until it finally began to crumple in her hand.  She yanked open her car door threw the flyer to the floor of the passenger seat and revved the engine.  She needed to get out of this parking garage in one piece and onto the open road.  This had gone on long enough.  This—and she wasn’t even sure what she was mad at.  This—what had gone on long enough?  Some stupid wrestling event that she couldn’t care less about?  Some stupid people playing at a non-sport sport?  The talk of this new celebrity Turkish Oil Torres?  Her fantasies about being with Callie again in the ring or alone?  Some stupid denial of her feelings for the woman that she walked away from?  
  
“Oh.  No.  I did not just think that?”  Erica revved the engine harder and continued driving south.  She had no idea to where and she had no idea what she intended to do, but she was on her way.  Luggage, reservations, a trip itinerary, hell, a destination be damned!  
  
***  
  
Callie didn’t know what to make of it.  Just before the end of her shift a courier came with an envelope addressed to her from the event producers.  Inside was a brief note from the producers asking her how she wanted to handle this invitation.  Inside that was an opened card addressed to her.  It was anonymous, but something about the words felt familiar to her and those pangs in her heart began to come back.  
  
_Turkish Oil Torres,  
  
The flyer says that you will accept any challenge that is thrown down.  
  
I do not wish to compete publicly with you.  For personal reasons I am unable to do so and I am disinclined at any rate.  However, I do wish to arrange a match against you.  I can run the gauntlet and face Carmen.  However, I am not interested in all the fluff, especially for a private match.  
  
If you will accept my challenge then have the company send word to me to set it up.  I understand the need for security and the familiarity of the company.  That is why I have contacted you this way and will leave the match arrangements up to you and the company.  I only ask for privacy/anonymity.  
  
You will still receive your championship prize at the end as if it were a full Saturday night of competition.  
  
Thank you for your time and consideration.  
  
-The Challenger_  
  
***  
  
Callie had to admit she was intrigued, but she let the invitation settle for a week in the back of her mind.  She had plenty of other distractions going to Carmen’s club opening—enjoying their flirtatious relationship and playing it up for the crowd.  The Saturday after the invitation came was the biggest Saturday yet.  Callie was a buzz with excitement and for the first time she was able to see the crowd and tune in to its excitement.  She had to wait for anyone that got past the gauntlet and Carmen before she would enter the ring.  
  
Her skin was electric watching the crowd pulse and hum.  They cheered on competitors, got drinks and snacks, and greeted each other.  Callie could see that in a very short amount of time a community of sorts had formed under the big top where she had become the champion.  It was not just her personal celebrity that had come on, but the sudden wave of energy that these events brought to the whole of Seattle.  
  
The few times she had felt this buzz of happiness were when Erica was still in town.  So, Callie was not surprised when she thought she saw her in the crowd.  Whenever she approached happiness she always caught a glimpse of her somewhere and usually ran in search of her only to find it was an illusion.  This time Callie smiled at the thought of an Erica sighting and she hugged herself a little enjoying the knowledge that that illusion had come to her in her moment of happiness.  
  
**_In This Corner…_**  
  
The arena is empty.  Callie descends alone to the floor level where the ring and the referee are waiting.  A body guard trails behind her as she approaches.  Next to the ring Callie looks up to the far side entrance where a lone figure moves forward descending to the arena floor as well.  Callie had foregone the gauntlet and a match with Carmen in favor of meeting the Challenger directly in a one-on-one bout.  Only the two participants, the referee and the bodyguard will be present in the arena for the match.  
  
Callie absently wonders about the silence.  It is unnerving to be here about to get in the ring without the noise of the crowd or the voice of the announcer.  Callie watches her opponent draw closer wondering if they will oil each other like traditional oil wrestlers or oil themselves.  No one thought about that part of this special challenge because Callie had not heard about any arrangements.  She looked to the ring—there was the oil on the side table where it usually is.  Callie wonders if maybe she should have had Carmen here to cheer her on and oil her skin.  
  
She looks again to her approaching opponent and gasps.  A familiar halo of blonde hair is framing a serious looking face with piercing blue eyes.  Callie sucks in a painful breath of air as she takes in the alabaster skin, tall achingly familiar frame, dark brown bikini, and the longest most delicious legs that Callie has ever seen.  Callie realizes with a flutter of her heart that the illusion of Erica she had seen on Saturday must have been the real thing.  Erica had been drawn to her.  
  
And tonight?  Tonight, it was just the two of them and the ring, well, and the ref and the bodyguard.  Callie looked up thanking the heavens that she had not had Carmen come tonight after all.  
  
Erica approaches her side of the ring holding Callie’s gaze from the other side.  Callie ducks her head under the rope and brings one leg into the ring.  She looks up to Erica daring her to really follow up on the challenge.  Erica swiftly follows suit and the two are merely paces from each other for the first time in months that seemed like years.  
  
Callie grabs the bottles of oil.  She hands one to Erica who looks at her questioningly.  “What does the winner get?”  Callie asks Erica.  
  
“Time?  Not here?”  Erica offers.  
  
Callie nods.  She steps forward smiling and she slowly holds the oil over Erica’s shoulder and then squeezes.  Erica watched her and gasped when the oil hit her skin, but then smiled at Callie as she spread the oil with her hands.  Erica mirrored her movements.  
  
Ready they stepped away from each other the referee stepping in now.  Right before the whistle, Erica asked Callie, “What do you want if you win?”  
  
“Time.  Not here.”  Callie said looking Erica dead in the eyes.  
**_  
The End_**

****

****

**_..._**  


 


End file.
